This very cold winter
by idina
Summary: All he knew was Hermione's hand in his, and the impossible yearning for the forlorn woman waiting in the dining parlour for them. It would never be easy for them to accept her. They were going to try anyway.


A biting frost whipped ferociously about the pair as they came to face the magnificent gate. It was wide and reached for the sky, looking as though made of ice, with the spears on it snow-capped and icicles forming on the horizontal, silver bars. Feeling very much intimidated by the sheer regality and vastness of the mansion in front of her, Hermione pulled her coat closer and stepped forward in a nice show of bravado to assure her companion she was braced to enter.

He flicked his wand, concentrating on the gate, and soon enough it swung open, clearing piles of snow in their path as it does. Tenderly, Hermione picked her way through the white, gently sloping path of the driveway, leaving blatant prints behind her like an intruder. The snow was grey, as if stained by something seeping from even the smallest cracks of the house, the exact colour of the eyes of the occupants. At that, she shuddered involuntarily, eliciting a tentative glance and an even more tentative warm, gloved hand in hers from Malfoy. She squeezed back. Together, they pushed open the double oak doors.

The place looked in perfect order as it had before the war, which was more than could be said for the snow-filled driveway. _She must have asked some house elves to leave, since it's only her they have to care for now... _Still she had had the mansion kept well for his return. Something feeling like a bucket of dust being poured onto him settled on his shoulders, cold and heavy, at this thought. But all he knew was Hermione holding his hand, and the impossible yearning for the forlorn woman in the dining parlour who was waiting for them. He needed courage, for Hermione. He was sure she was trembling inside, but outside she looked braver than he was.

_Damn Gryffindors_.

If only she hadn't been one, they wouldn't be having so much of a problem now. Malfoy just had to pick the one who was too smart, too sharp, to devoted to Potter and Weasley, too loyal, too courageous, too daring, too stupid to have forgiven him and made him want to catch her eye...

"This way, young sir," a knobbly-kneed elf bowed and beckoned as he caught sight of the pair. "I know where the dining room is," Malfoy growled irritably, whilst preoccupied with considering how he was going to start the conversation.

"Oh, don't be such a worrywart," she chided, noticing the tense silence, but he'd caught the flash of anxiety in her eyes as she said it.

"Hypocrite," he snapped.

"Git!" she threw back, biting her lip to stop it from trembling.

"Scaredy-cat!" He just had to be tactful, that was all. _Tell Mother... Tell Mother what? I'm in l—_

The golden chandelier threw its light onto them suddenly, and they cast small shadows on the polished, marble floor. Hermione's gasp caught in her throat and she almost didn't see the silvery-blonde haired figure, sitting gracefully in her seat, in a small table that seemed to be drowning in the high-ceilinged room. She let go of Malfoy immediately. Narcissa's hands were clasped, her mouth in a tight, thin smile, and her eyes closed. Hermione knew she was listening intently for the footsteps to approach.

"Come, Draco," Narcissa's soft voice almost echoed, bouncing off the walls and entering Hermione's ears from all directions so that it seemed the voice came from the walls themselves. She took the step forward, pulling Malfoy as he took a moment to recover himself and stride forward purposefully.

Malfoy stepped behind Narcissa, embracing her around her neck and gently kissing her cheek. Narcissa actually smiled, glowing though the wrinkles surrounding her eyes made her look tired, worn out. She put her arms on top of Malfoy's, and for a few moments the two remained, trying to put all the unsaid feelings, things that couldn't be expressed in words, into that hug.

_I, _Hermione realized with a start, _can never take her place. _And in that moment, Hermione came to the realization that she didn't want to, that to have acceptance from his family was all she needed.

Only when Malfoy pulled away did Narcissa open her eyes, but only narrowly, as she peered at Hermione, who was a small distance behind her. Recognition seemed to settle in, and her eyes widened with an expression Hermione could not read. Hermione began to think there was a very slim chance of acceptance now. She was just running through, in her head, places she could hide if she escaped...

Narcissa's first address was to Malfoy, though. "You did tell me you were going to bring someone, but..."

"But what?" Malfoy asked, when Narcissa had trailed off, staring straight at Hermione.

"Her?" Narcissa turned back to Malfoy with her perfectly blank face. Even Malfoy couldn't tell what she was thinking or implying.

Yes, her. He didn't know why either. One day he had been Draco Malfoy, completely sane and relieved the war was over, terrified about what would happen next. He was following his parents to Azkaban, coming out after a short sentence, waiting for his mother to be released next, and bidding goodbye to his father, for it would be a long time before Lucius was a free man again. He was returning to Hogwarts and spending time avoiding people, and suddenly he was trying hard to block her out as she told him she had forgiven him and that he had changed, why was he so quiet nowadays? After that, he forgot what happened. Maybe she'd put a charm or a jinx on him, or slipped him a love potion, but he was sorely disappointed to find himself fully conscious, and couldn't find a reason why she would trick him into loving her anyway.

"Because, Mother," he said warily, watching her face for any sudden explosion, "she..."

"Saved your life, yes. Without her, and Potter, and Weasley, you wouldn't be here," her gaze flickered to Hermione, who felt a bit of herself crumble. "I haven't forgotten what you told me, Draco. I simply thought maybe you'd make a better decision..."

Hermione looked at Malfoy. He looked cross, like he was annoyed that she had not uttered a word. _Some smart witch you are. _Hermione understood; he didn't feel like a victim in their relationship, no matter how hard he tried to impress upon her so. He thought he was stupid for it, yes, but it was _so _the best decision he had ever made...

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Hermione gulped, clinging desperately to the composure she still had left. "It's okay if you don't accept me, my blood status being what it is. But I hope you do understand that I didn't use magic to, er... catch his attention—"

"I know he is sane, and in the right mind. I happen to be his mother," Narcissa said a little coldly.

"—And I have no ulterior motive either. My being a Mudblood is not a choice, but if there's anything I can change that you don't approve of, I will try my best to do so, as long as I do not lose myself in the process. I'm really sorry if Harry, Ron and I have ever offended you in any way, whether intentionally or not. I'm sorry about Lucius, too, I can sort of understand how you feel, because my parents are now in Australia without a clue who I am, and I miss them so much..."

Hermione stood a little straighter, fighting the helplessness that swam over her and engulfed her, like a huge tidal wave rising from the sea and crashing into shore. Malfoy's hand pulled her back, like a safety float.

"Draco and I... We hoped people would stop looking at us as Muggle-born and Pureblood, or Gryffindor and Slytherin, Good or Bad, Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. We're all still human, right? Don't we all deserve love, no matter who it comes from? That why we hoped... we hope... you will support us."

Narcissa considered her for a moment, taking in their joined hands, recalling how Draco had once pleaded her for things like broomsticks and trick mirrors, and now was asking for her approval, for her forgiveness, for her to trust completely in him and her.

Outside, a flurry of white swirled around the mansion, catching in nooks in the roof, little corners of the windowsills, and in the floorboards of the backyard balcony. It was a very cold winter, one as icy as Slytherin's eyes, the kind that left you shivering even when you were inside, where the fireplace roared, strong as a Gryffindor lion. In the dining parlour, though, all that Hermione, Draco and Narcissa could feel was the way the table seemed to grow larger in the immense room as they sat down at it, bathed in the light of the golden chandelier. They clinked their glasses, breaking the otherwise unusually comfortable silence. Honey and roast ham wafted in as the door opened, and in came trays seemingly hovering about table height by themselves, but accompanied with scurrying feet. As Hermione got up to help them set the dishes on the table, and Narcissa eyed Hermione first with pursed lips and a wide-eyed stare, Malfoy thought he heard his mother mutter "Thanks" to a house-elf, who bowed deeply and briskly departed.

Lucius was another battle they had yet to face, but that could wait for another day. Now, Malfoy enclosed one small hand in his, and with his fork in the other hand put roast ham on his mother's plate. He was feeling very content indeed.


End file.
